


I Want an Army Man

by mygracelessheart



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 22:05:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7455598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mygracelessheart/pseuds/mygracelessheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew Bucky so well, but those pages told him more than the man ever could. Line after line of script, sometimes neat, sometimes a hasty scrawl as he ducked into a foxhole. Pages and pages of writing, musing, ranting. Loving. So many pages of loving. Steve couldn't get it out of his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want an Army Man

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse any character or historical inaccuracies. I wrote this at 2 am when I couldn't sleep. Set before Winter Soldier.

Here's the thing about Steve Rogers: people like to say he's bulletproof. But he's not. I've known that from the moment he was born. Even this new Steve, all beefed up and healthy, strong as an ox? He's still a cocky asshole. He thinks he's bullet proof.  
He's not.  
I've seen him pale and bleeding out from a gunshot to the belly. I've seen him lip-split, eyes-wide, toe-to-toe with a battalion of Krauts, and not a lick of fear in his eyes. He barely got out of there alive. Sometimes I wonder if I did.  
~  
Steve closed his eyes, settling it back against the wall of the train. It bumped and rattled over the tracks, almost oppressive in the humid July heat, but hey. It was better than walking. He remembered when he had to walk everywhere, lungs rattling, trying to keep up with Bucky-  
He turned sharply to the side, muscle clenching in his jaw. He couldn't think about that. Not now. His hand snuck into his jacket, found the journal. It was worn before he got it, and now moreso, the pages turned over and over in his hands.  
He knew Bucky so well, but those pages told him more than the man ever could. Line after line of script, sometimes neat, sometimes a hasty scrawl as he ducked into a foxhole. Pages and pages of writing, musing, ranting. Loving. So many pages of loving. Steve couldn't get it out of his head.  
~  
I'm glad he's finally able to sleep. It was a hard trek to get here. Everyone's exhausted. Dum Dum didn't even have the energy to pass the bottle before bed. I volunteered for watch- hard to close your eyes when every time you do, you can smell the bright tang of blood and gunpowder.  
He's curled up across from me right now. Aw, hell. I may as well say it. Write this to him instead of about him, and stop being a fucking queer. Fine. Here goes. (There's a pause here. Not one easily read by someone that doesn't know, but Steve can tell. He can see the small dots on the page, the tap-tap-tap of Bucky gathering his courage. He's brushed his thumb over those dots more times than he cares to admit.)  
I can see the moonlight on your face, and I wonder if the moon feels blessed to touch you. I know that I would. I'm afraid to, though. There's so much blood on my hands. I don't want to stain your skin. You think you know what it's like, out here, but God. You've only been here a few months. You've never had to crouch in a trench, watch the guy next to you get blown up, as the shell misses you by a hair. You remember that time Em and I brought a kitten home? Mom screamed at us so loud I thought the building was gonna come down. "We can barely feed you two!" She said. "How can we feed a cat on top of that?!"  
What I didn't tell her was that we found the kitten on the side of the road. A couple of boys were torturing it, tying its legs up with string, pulling it around. All sorts of awful things. That kitten was meowing, loud and pitiful. I looked over at it, and its eyes. God, Stevie, its eyes. They looked just like my trench mate, just before they shot him in the head. Wide, pleading. "I want to go home," they said. So we took the kitten home. Couldn't take that boy home, though.  
I don't want you to have to see that. I know you're going to. I just hope it isn't my eyes that you see looking that way.  
~  
The train rattled to a stop, doors hissing open. In a quick motion, Steve was on his feet and headed out of the station. He ducked his head once he left- didn't want any enthusiastic fans ganging up on him today. Trudging down the street was easy. Much easier than slogging through the mud.


End file.
